the raindrops on my windshield look like shards
of broken glass, sharp to the touch when
reflected on by all the other blinding
headlights
hers was a black truck, wet in the rain, looking
rough and **** in the sweaty love-
making sort of way
i thought about how she had written me that note,
a secret, and how she had torn it up and
then thrown it out after i read it. It was a
whisper, that secret was, a whisper of the
love and trust she still harbored for me.
maybe we won't fade away, but theses are the reasons
i'll cry if we do.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
the raindrops on my windshield look like shards
of broken glass, sharp to the touch when
reflected on by all the other blinding
headlights
hers was a black truck, wet in the rain, looking
rough and **** in the sweaty love-
making sort of way
i thought about how she had written me that note,
a secret, and how she had torn it up and
then thrown it out after i read it. It was a
whisper, that secret was, a whisper of the
love and trust she still harbored for me.
maybe we won't fade away, but theses are the reasons
i'll cry if we do.
Request permission to use this poem